


A Ride Gone Awry

by merrills



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrills/pseuds/merrills
Summary: When Elayna Lavellan accidentally falls off her horse, Leliana suggests that a proper Fereldan such as Cullen should instruct her in horseback riding. Which he does - with unforeseen consequences.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	A Ride Gone Awry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elffyness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elffyness/gifts).



It had been, without a doubt, a set-up. Only Cullen would realize this much, much later, when he would hold Elayna in his arms and think back on how it all began. For him, anyways.

The conversation about horse riding surfaced after the war table meeting was all but complete: men and resources would be deployed by Cullen to build watchtowers in the Hinterlands, Sister Leliana was to send scouts to the Fallow Mire, and Ambassador Montilyet diplomats and templars to Divine Justinia’s wake in Highever. 

The Herald would return to the Hinterlands, among the workers and soldiers that Cullen would be sending there. As soon as this was decided a wash of relief flooded him; the spasms in his lower back and abdomen were bearable today, but only barely. He had to lie down as soon as possible, but it took over an hour of going over reports and and discussing different measures for different missions for his bed to finally appear on his mental horizon. And so it was all the more vexing when Sister Leliana inadvertently extended the war table meeting.

“I heard from The Iron Bull that you made a brave attempt at horse racing,” she directed at the Herald with a grin, which the other woman returned in kind.

“I don’t know how brave it was of me to slide off sideways,” Lady Lavellan quipped back as she shoved two stacks of papers together with little care. 

Maker, those would be a mess to sort later on. The ambassador saw it too, and gasped, though whether it was because of the lack of organization on the Herald’s part, or the picture of the Chosen One falling off a horse was unclear. The Herald, in any case, didn’t seem to notice.

“Apparently one had to fasten the belt of the saddle tighter than I anticipated,” she continued jovially. “But my head is fine now, thanks for asking.”

“We have to arrange for more horse riding lessons for you then,” Ambassador Montilyet said with force, lifting her quill to emphasize her point. “A graceful appearance is important, and there will be a lot of riding to be done by you, my lady, before all this is over.”

Cullen noticed a smirk shimmering in the Herald’s dark eyes, and lingered perhaps a moment too long on it. 

“The Commander has been riding horses since he was a boy. Surely he could give the Herald pointers on how to carry oneself on one,” Leliana said, looking straight at him.

By Andraste’s bloody-

How did she know that? Forget it, what _didn’t_ she know. 

A particularly nasty spasm jerked him into straightening his back and had goosebumps crawl up and down his body. 

“That-” he involuntarily exclaimed breathlessly, clenching through the pain. Maker’s Blood, now all the women were staring at him. He would have to finish the sentence. Thinking about his bed he continued: “I am terribly busy…”

His voice trailed off when a disappointed expression replaced the hopeful one on the Herald’s pretty features and she averted her eyes to the stack of papers before her. Oh no. This is not what he’d wanted, not in the slightest. She would think- 

He remembered the playful shimmer in her big brown eyes.

“I mean- of course,” he heard himself say, maybe a bit to eagerly. “It would be my pleasure”

From the corner of his eye he could see Leliana stifle a grin and felt his neck tighten. As though a joke had been played on him that he didn’t understand. At least not yet. 

It was early in the day, still, and a creeping chill licked the back of Cullen’s neck, even through the pelt. Lady Lavellan was stepping impatiently from one foot to the other. He couldn’t fault her; the climate of the Frostbacks could not possibly be compared to the mild temperatures and the humidity of the Free Marches. He sometimes missed it, too, especially on mornings such as these. And to stand around in the more or less flat openness of the training grounds didn’t help. The soldiers around them, at least, were moving. 

“Alright,” Cullen began with a firm grip on the reins of the Fereldan Forders in his hand and a clearing of his throat. 

Lady Lavellan had sat on a horse before, even for longer stretches of time, but to have a horse carry one’s self from one place to another is quite a different thing from true horseback riding. And Cullen told her as much.

While he was talking at her, he watched for her reactions. She was still visibly cold, but attentive, with her big brown eyes following his lips, facial expressions, and hands as he was pointing to different areas of the horse and explaining their mechanics in different modes of movement. She seemed to be taking it all in, as if she were thirsting for information and indeed all too happy to listen to Cullen’s lecture. 

The seasoned soldiers and fresh recruits around them, in the meantime, had lost interest in cautiously watching their Commander and their Herald converse. The freezing morning air was once more filled with ambitious cries and the sharp noises of blade meeting blade.

As icy wind cut through his armor’s nooks and crannies to bite him, Cullen realized that he could’ve told Lady Lavellan all that he just had in the comforting warmth of a house. The horses were getting slightly restless from standing out in the open, too, even though the reins were securely in his gloved hands. 

“One of the most important things when sitting on a mount,” he said, “is posture. The horse can pick up as many or more cues from the way its rider sits as from a verbal command. Slack too much, and the horse will think itself in control. Depending on its mentality, it may be fine or it may get up to all sorts of shenanigans that it ought not to. I once saw a mount deliberately walk into bushes to brush off and annoy its rider.”  
The warm smile and chuckle he earned from the woman across from him let a familiar flutter rise in his chest. But it died down quickly.

“Well-” he coughed. “Anyways. Sitting stiffly, on the other hand, means that the rider and the horses will move as two separate entities, and against one another. Instead, the goal is to have a connection to the mount you’re on. That way, you can move as one; flexible, fast, and secure. That is the Fereldan way.”

Cullen drew in his breath and held it, returning the Herald’s expectant gaze. He suddenly felt as though he had used up all his words for a day and felt spotlighted. It was silly, very silly, he gave speeches in front of soldiers all the time. 

“Sounds good,” Lady Lavellan nodded after a lengthy pause. “That’s what I want.”

“Well… good then.” 

Another pause. 

“Are you alright, Commander?” the Herald asked, her voice silvery as ever. “You look a little uncomfortable.”

Blood shot into his cheeks. How was one to respond to such an intrusive question? What happened to polite ignorance?

“Yes, yes, quite,” Cullen pushed out quickly. _Maker’s breath_. “I think we should start with the practical part. Up you go. This one.” 

He switched the reins of the smaller Forder he’d indicated from his right hand to his left and gave a gentle pull. The horse obeyed immediately and took a few steps forward and around him. Lady Lavellan went to moving as well; without a sliver of hesitation she slipped her right foot into the stirrup, lifted herself up the saddle and was promptly seated, looking down at the commander with patient expectancy. 

“Saddle is buckled tight, I like that,” she joked. “It’s a much better view from up here rather than sideways on the ground.”

In spite of himself, the chuckle that she coaxed from him made Cullen release all of the awkward tension he’d held in his body. Now free to focus on the task at hand, he focussed on the elf’s posture on the horse. 

“Keep your knees closer to the horse’s flanks. Like that. Yes, use your inner thighs to hold onto it.”

“Alright. How long do I do this for?”

“How long?” Cullen repeated, taken aback. “For as long as you want to stay on it, of course.”

The Herald of Andraste scrunched her face, carving folds into the structure of the tattoo on her forehead. Cullen almost chuckled in disbelief at how freely she shared her thoughts, even without words. 

It was something so foreign to him, but on the other hand quite intriguing. It made conversations with her engaging, dynamic. Years of templar training and being put in positions of power had taught him to hide his thoughts, his every emotion that wasn’t disinterest. Granted, Cullen had never been too gifted in that regard, but nevertheless he had worked hard to master it. The way outspoken Lady Lavellan shared her thoughts, so immediately, with such disregard of social conventions… 

He shook his head, stifling a small chuckle.

“And there we have it. The reason you so easily slipped out of the saddle when the buckle wasn’t fast enough,” he said with a careful grin. 

“I suppose.” 

For a moment, they simply grinned at each other and Cullen felt, again, that fluttering in his lungs. He quickly moved his gaze from her face to the Herald’s waist, only to see that she sat slouched over. 

“Agh- you ought to sit up straight, my lady,” he said. 

From the rims of his eyes he saw her raise her delicate eyebrows at the way he’d addressed her, but he tried to avoid her eyes lest he get caught in them again. Instead, he watched her midriff and back as Lady Lavellan pulled her shoulders back and propped herself up, only to sacrifice the hold she’d had on the saddle. Her horse was growing impatient, too, and started stepping back and forth in anticipation of a command.

“You- hang on.”

Within a moment, Cullen had stepped around his horse and seated himself on top of it. He brought his Forder around to stand parallel to the Herald’s.

“See here,” he said, demonstrating the ideal posture. 

Her eyes scanned him up and down and emulated what he was doing, though her success was not extraordinary. He could tell that her legs had started shaking a bit from the continuous effort of tensing their muscles, meaning that she hadn’t been using her core to support them - and so in turn, her back’s posture was either overly stiff or slackened too quickly.

“No, you-”

With a somewhat exasperated sigh, Cullen guided his horse closer to hers and reached one hand to her back, the other towards her belly to correct her position. 

From there, everything happened faster than he could comprehend it. 

A spark of fire, or perhaps electricity flew between them. Within an instant Cullen jerked back, and Elayna lost her reins as though to she were surprised as well. 

That was the last straw. 

The Fereldan Forders had felt the uncontrolled magic in the air, and being creatures of flight, took to the danger. Cullen’s horse neighed at a deafening volume and rose onto its hind legs, almost dropping the man, had it not been for his “ideal posture”. 

The Herald’s horse, on the other hand, did not wait to build itself up - it dashed off. Along with the elven woman who was currently Cullen’s charge. 

What previously had been a muted laughter at an overly frightened, silly horse, turned into rising shouts and yells from the soldiers and templars around them.

For a moment after his Forder’s hooves landed back on the ground, the Commander of the Inquisition was stunned. He started after Lady Lavellan’s rogue horse as he fought to get his own to regain its composure. Then, with one powerful heartbeat from his chest-

“HIYA!”

-he dug his stirrups into the horse’s sides. Much to the onlookers joy and urging cries. 

The Herald, in the meantime, had disappeared behind a the trees west of Haven. Never before did Cullen have to spur a steed as hard as this one. He focussed with all his might to remain on course and steer it closer and closer to the Herald’s. Hooves crunched over freshly fallen snow, the wind whistled in his ears. But he would reach her. He would save her. He had to-

A part of him that ran loose went back to the moment that started it, that spark. He knew that Lady Lavellan was a mage, but she had always made the impression that she preferred to omit using her powers, except for rudimentary fighting where her daggers might not suffice. But back there had been no threat, so what had caused the increase of magic in the air? What had prompted the pique of energy from her side when he touched- touched- touched…

The Herald’s mount appeared after Cullen took the next curve northward. To increase in speed, he leaned even closer over his horse’s neck. By now his eyes were dry from the incessant wind beating into his face, and so he had to rely on the horse under him to lead as best it could. 

They inched closer and closer together. Perhaps it was his horse’s sheer amount of stamina, perhaps the Herald’s one was tiring itself out in its panic. Now was time to prepare himself for the plan he had so shallowly thrown together.

_Andraste preserve us._

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut against the wind, trying to regain some sight. When he opened them, he saw how close he was to catching up. Lady Lavellan had given up control of the reins in favor of pressing herself as flatly as possible against her horse’s neck and holding on. Her eyes were shut close, her tan skin ashy with cold and shock, her ponytail beating about behind her in the air.

It was now or never. 

“Herald! Lady Lavellan!” he yelled, hoping she’d hear him. “ _Elayna!_ ”

She opened her eyes, Maker Be Praised, saw him riding up to her. 

“Cullen!” she screamed back. “Help me!”

“Sit up!”

“NO!”

“Sit - UP”

Slowly, very slowly, Elayna rolled her back up, slid her hands from around the horse’s neck upwards towards its mane.

“Good! Very good! You can do it! Feet out of the stirrups! Hold on like I showed you!”

It took her a moment, but she did it. Squeezed her thighs to the horse’s flanks as if her life depended on it. And in this instance, it did.

“Now! I’ll reach for you and pull, and you’ll have to let go! Do you understand?”

“I can’t!”

“You have to! I don’t know how long I can keep this pace up!”

Her pained expression grew even more desperate, but she nodded. They had to do this now, before his horse got a chance to fall back. And so Cullen squeezed his thighs closer against his saddle, tightened his core, and leaned to the right, reaching his arm out to grab hers. 

“LET GO! NOW!”

Her fingers slipped from the horse’s mane, and almost like a doll she followed Cullen’s pull. It took all his strength and a good bit of momentum to be able to do it, but he managed to yank Elayna over his own saddle. As if it knew, his horse started slowing down, surprised by the new additional weight on its back. And it was for the better, because surely it wouldn’t have been able to uphold the adrenaline fuelled pace for much longer. Only when it slowly came to a halt did Cullen manage to let go off the breath he’d subconsciously held in his chest. And only then was he able to have a mind for his charge’s state.

“Herald- Lav- agh. Elayna!”

A groan came from the body in front of him,and for a moment he was afraid that he’d impaled her on the saddle’s horn. 

“I’m letting you down now, be careful,” Cullen said, worry etching his words. 

She slid to the right and she slid, hands finding purchase on the saddlehorn and the audibly disapproving horse’s mane. But finally, she was standing. Shaking on her legs, but standing.

“Praise the Maker.”

With nothing but relief in his heart, Cullen released his foot from the left stirrup, shifted his weight to the right and, in a quick movement, lifted himself off the panting horse’s back. As soon as his second foot hit the frozen ground Cullen realized that he was not in much better shape than Elayna. His knees were trembling violently, his thighs were unimaginably sore, and his lungs couldn’t decide what rhythm to breathe to. 

“Heral-” he began to say but started swaying, and just as Elayna looked up and saw what was about to happen, Cullen collapsed backwards. 

The elven woman instinctively reached for him as he fell, grabbing for the fur on his shoulders to try and keep him up. But unfortunately, her body had not nearly recovered from its recent distress, and so she fell with him, landing next to the warrior in the hard snow.

Elayna gently moved different parts of her body to assure herself that they were fine. Her feet, her sore legs, her wrists and head. She breathed deeply onto the snowdrops in front of her nose, thanking Ghilan'nain for the still, sweet air, her and her salvation.

“Her-Herald,” Cullen groaned, his eyes still closed as though he were unable to open them. “Are you-”

With a suppressed moan, Elayna laboriously propped herself up onto her underarms and looked over to the Commander. He seemed shaken, much like she was, but he didn’t look hurt.

“Cullen, are you alright?”

A trembling, pained exhale was all she could get out of him, and for a moment she feared for his life. Within a moment she had lifted herself onto her knees, pressing the palms of her freezing hands on his cheeks. Strands of her brown hair dangled over his face.

“Cullen- Cullen! Look at me!”

It took him effort, she could tell. But finally he opened his red, tearing eyes and looked up at her. His chapped, pale lips parted at the sight of her as though he was going to say something that never came. But Creators be blessed, he seemed fine. He merely stared at her, and Elayna couldn’t help but give him a soft smile of relief. 

“Herald-”

“Elayna,” she interrupted with a small grin on her lips.

“W-what?”

“You called me by my name, earlier.”

“I… I apologize.” Cullen averted his eyes, and something in Elanya’s chest softened as she looked down on the man’s face, framed by snowdrops. 

“Don’t,” she said gently. “I like it.”

She didn’t know it, but smile she gave him, then and there - genuine, bright and so full of warmth- send a fluttering sensation through Cullen’s body that made him forget his pains for a deliciously long moment. It was a sensation he would continue to feel every time he’d look at her from across the war table, every time he’d hear that she returned from a mission. 

Every time she’d give him a grin, a look, or simply stood a bit too close. He’d look at her and feel himself reminded of blooming dandelions, of silky cobwebs between their stalks, of sunshine caught in a lake. 

She didn’t know it. Or perhaps, a small part of her did.

But that was the moment Cullen fell in love with Elayna Lavellan. A woman, a mage, who would change the face of Thedas twice over. Who would save countless lives, change fortunes with the blink of an eye. 

Who would save _him_ , ultimately. 

And he knew he’d never love anyone as much as he loved her from this moment on. 


End file.
